


The ship bell

by acrosspontneuf (FangedAngel)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Light-Hearted, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/acrosspontneuf
Summary: Merrill never expected her to return, and then to keep returning. Not to Kirkwall, not to Merrill. And yet, she does. And yet, she has.
Relationships: Isabela/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	The ship bell

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet offering for the wonderful [@Galaxy_Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxy_Raven) featuring softness on Isabela's ship.

Merrill is in the Alienage when she hears the bell, the bundle of embrium in her hands dropping to the ground because the surprise makes her forget her own limbs. It’s not the first time she’s done something like this and the children flock around her to pick up the flowers as she runs to the docks through alleys that still haven’t been repaired, crashing into only a few people and one or two crates on the way. She knows that bell, and she must follow its call.

She received a letter from Isabela mere days ago and there was no suggestion there of a visit. There was no suggestion of any location at all, and Merrill’s used to Isabela’s ways by now but they still make her smile, they still make her heart flutter. When she turns the corner and sees Isabela’s ship, only a glimpse of that hat of hers is enough to take the remainder of Merrill’s breath away, and she stands there, dazed, the sun blinding her and the humidity clinging to her skin.

Merrill doesn’t see Isabela often, not since everything changed. They understand each other. Isabela belongs to the sea and Merrill belongs to the land and to a fight that goes beyond her. She had to stay in Kirkwall for her people, to rebuild, to watch things grow, to hear the whispers of the eluvian telling her that they are on the brink of change. Isabela was always going to return to her realm, the seas singing her name. Merrill never expected her to return, and then to keep returning. Not to Kirkwall, not to Merrill. And yet, she does. And yet, she has.

There have been letters too. Letters that carry the scent of the sea, salt hardening the edges. Merrill could touch the words and almost see where Isabela had been, feel the sun and the rain, , hear the sound of her laughter and her ship creaking like aravels. Merrill doesn’t have a taste for the sea, but the letters have made her long for it. She’s only ever longed for the peace she finds in the heart of the forests she’s grown up in, for the sound of the wind in the mountains, and the scent of fields full of wildflowers. Now, she longs for so much more. She wakes with the sound of the sea in her ears sometimes. She dreams of it often, like she dreams of the amber in Isabela’s eyes and the soft roughness of her hands.

It’s what usually happens when Isabela’s in Kirkwall. They hold hands long after sunset on deck, humidity chilling everything around them. Isabela tells her outrageous stories and Merrill can never quite tell what is fact and what is fiction and she’s delighted by it all. Sometimes they fall asleep curled up together. Sometimes Merrill kisses the corner of Isabela’s mouth, or her temple, or the angle of her jaw, and she feels things about the way Isabela’s eyes soften in reply.

There is a quietness between them, peace that feels like serenity, tender and sweet like summer fruit. It’s not what Merrill expected, but then again nothing has been since Mahariel left to become a hero. And now, Isabela is here with the tide and Merrill runs onto the deck with even less grace than usual, Isabela’s crew walking by her, as used to her as the entire Alienage.

There is tiredness lurking in the corners of Isabela’s eyes but it melts away when she sees Merrill, and the ‘hi, kitten’ sounds the same as always, fond and warm and all-encompassing and Merrill thinks maybe she should be embarrassed by the sound that leaves her mouth, too loud and too much and too her, half laugh and half giggle. The dockhands are staring as openly as always, but Isabela opens her arms wide and Merrill leaps into them and thinks of harbours, waiting steadily for ships to return, as she breathes in the salt on Isabela’s skin, as she presses her lips to her sun-warmed shoulder. The sun and the sea wrap themselves around them and time stops, if only for a little while.


End file.
